Playing Fields
by CreamoCrop
Summary: Love is a battlefield. Sometimes that means shooting the other person.


It started with a silly bet, it ended with a bloody war.

Bloody because _they _insisted on using red fill. _They _said it would make it feel more real. When it was first proposed, he scowled while Lestrade laughed out loud. John merely smirked - not that he's gauging the doctor's reaction. There was no need to read deeper in the situation. This was after all, child's play for them.

Nothing about _paintball_ could make it anymore real for an ex-army doctor, a detective inspector and a consulting detective.

Easy. Too Easy.

_Perhaps_, those were the same words that ran through _their _minds when they laid _their_ terms upon winning.

Shame.

Had he known that it would take this much effort, he would have doubled the duration of his prize. He sighed as he thought of his miscalculation.

_Damn Lestrade._

If someone makes a quip about woman's marksmanship, and inadvertently start a debate that could only be settled with a day of paintball, high stakes and bruised ego, that _someone _is expected _not _to be the first one to be shot and eliminated.

Donovan's smirk couldn't possibly grow any bigger at the sight of the quarter-sized paint mark in Lestrade's left thigh. Too bad she was very absorbed with her victory to notice John training his aim at her. Now, both Yarders are sitting outside the arena, watching the play as they drink their coffees.

At least the doctor leveled the playing field. Otherwise it would have felt like pebble inside the shoes, or Anderson in a crime scene.

Not that he champions their side of the argument; he's wearing a blue jersey and not a violet one simply because his sex organ hangs out of his body. Actually, he is convinced that the whole scenario isn't even about where the sex organs lies and how it affects someone's caliber anymore. It's more of who's going to gain what when they win. It just so happened that the grouping, was based on whether the Y chromosome was activated or not.

It wouldn't even escalate this much, had Donovan not declared that she'd be Lestrade's coffee and donut supplier for a whole month if he wins, or when John said that victory means he gets to drop out of the cooking lesson that Mary had enrolled them in.

Or when Sherlock said _"And I want Molly to do whatever I want for a whole month". _

Everyone looked at him in surprise when he said that, especially Molly, since the two of them weren't even involved with the discussion that was going on inside the lab.

They had just finished their own discussion where Molly was telling him that _pathologist _isn't synonymous to _organ supplier_, when the two pairs came in, already in the height of their debate. Apparently, Lestrade dropped a joke about a female suspect who _"shot like a girl_" and therefore failed to kill her victim. Donovan was quick to disagree, and the rest as they say, was history. However, how Mary - a nurse - got roped into gun talk was beyond Sherlock. He dismissed it as her natural ability to involve herself in a lot of issues, as well as to her curiously antagonistic relationship with John wherein they try to outdo each other while building too much sexual tension.

Nevertheless, the whole argument was distracting and he was about to kick them out when the conditions started to pour in.

Strike while the iron is still hot.

His startling quip effectively cemented him and Molly into the game. Her shocked face and initial hesitance further solidified his belief that it was a win-win situation.

For him.

He wins the prize _while _showing off his skills.

Paintball is a good way to show and impress anyone, with your ability to protect. _Although_ _maybe_ shooting the one you want to impress is not how it is usually done. At least he improvised. The last time he acted under a plan, it was already half way through dinner when he realized that Molly thought they were doing undercover.

It was supposed to be their first date.

He never bothered to correct her. John doubled over when he recounted the story - apparently Sherlock's the only person that the doctor knows, who had a first date under the false pretense that the couple at the next table runs a Meth lab.

This time there is no false pretenses, only vague statements. It won't be in his plate when she realizes that the phrase "whatever I want" doesn't translate to unlimited lab access, assistance and organ supply _only. _Although, he's hoping that she'd be more perceptive of his intentions when high in adrenaline. In that way, asking her to a dinner date won't be _excruciatingly _embarrassing.

First though, he needs to shoot her.

The field was very quiet. No bunkers were moving, no shadows sway. The silence would have been unnerving if he wasn't used to this kind of hide and seek. He checked his marker as well as his extra pods. At first he though that it was ridiculous that they'd need extras. It wasn't like the game would be longer. It was three on three, with skilled fighters in one side and _them _on the other side.

Mary glared at him when he expressed his thoughts, Donovan shoved the pods hard on his chest. Molly merely stood on the side, quietly fumbling with her elbow protectors. In the end, he had to go and help her with the straps. In that moment when he was holding her thin limbs, he almost regretted his decision to include her. But once the idea had settled in and the condition that _she _gets to boss him around if her group wins, was laid, she remained adamant with joining. When the straps were secured, she looked up, smiled and wished him good luck before joining her estrogen band. She was so calm compared to her two mates that are already bristling with predator energy.

He immediately went over his group and gave a stern warning that no one shoots Molly under 25 feet. Lestrade said that the most gentleman and fair way that they could be, is to honor the 15 feet minimum distance. He glared at the inspector but remained silent because he knew that the man was right. John on the other hand, merely sighed and said that if he's really worried about her, he could be in-charge of finding Molly and taking her out.

He thought it was easy enough. In fact, he had considered the odds and had concluded that he'd get to Molly within 15 minutes of the game. Mary would be taken out, most likely by John, within 20 minutes. Donovan would put up a fight for one hour.

Half an hour into the game, he still had no idea where Molly was. Forty-seven minutes after it started, Lestrade was tagged. Two minutes after, Donovan was walking out of the arena, with red running down her back. Ten more minutes of shooting and searching, and a weird Mexican standoff forced John Watson and Mary Morstan out of the field.

He wasn't even sure how they got into that situation, all he knows was that sans the threat of being discovered, he would have shouted "Get a room."

Four people eliminated, an hour of playing and a discarded pod later, he is yet to see nor hear from Molly. He never liked it when people refer to her as Mousy Molly. Anyone who could deal with him in the same way that Molly does, is definitely not mousy. But now, in the middle of a _paintball _game of all times, he could clearly see the appeal of the nickname.

As he was securing the barrel of his marker, something violet flashed in the corner of his eyes. Quickly, his body tensed as his mind registered the first movement he had seen from Molly. About forty five feet away from him, a rectangular sup'air was slowly swaying to a stop. Training his barrel as well as his eyes on the foreground he searched for anymore signs of his pathologist. Suddenly to his right, another violet flashed, but just as fast as it showed, it disappeared behind another bunker. He knows that movement is the key to a successful play once the game comes down to a one on one, so with his nuzzle trained on her general direction, he backed out of his bunker and moved, three sup'airs away. It increased the distance between them by fifteen feet.

He waited for her to make her move but the sup'airs remained still. It appears as if Molly has no plan to engage him in a shoot out, as is usually the case when it's just two players left. He knows that sooner or later one of them has to either surrender or get shot, but Molly is yet to fire.

Clearly, aggressive games like paintball is not for her.

"Molly, _you do know_ that you'll have to shoot me if you want to win this game." Thankfully he can talk through his mask. Stealth is vital in paintball but with their situation, it seems like communication would do them more good, than remain hiding in silence. If she heeds him and actually tries to shoot, then he'll know where she is and he can just as easily retaliate. If she refuses to shoot but chooses to communicate he'll still know her location. Either way, letting her know where he is would let the game progress faster and they could still be in time to catch dinner in Angelo's.

He tensed for a second as he waited for any shot to ring out. None came.

He waited for her voice. She remained silent.

Hazarding a peek to the cluster of bunkers that serves as her hiding place, he only saw inactivity. It appears that he will have to perform further coaxing.

"Molly, this is paintball. You're supposed to shoot at the other person if you want to win."

Still no response.

He decided to move one bunker closer to her location. "I'll have you know that if I win I want Roginson's heart."

_'Yours as well…though preferably still beating.'_

Silence.

He moved two bunkers closer, leaving forty feet of distance between them. "Also, I want you to come in next Saturday, I have an experiment to conduct."

That's her day-off, but he really does have an experiment to conduct. It being the opening day of the new Japanese restaurant two blocks from St. Bart's, and his sudden want to try oriental food will just be happy coincidences.

Silence.

He sighed as he checked his air tank. He really wanted to see her in action, but it's not as if she willingly signed up for this. Not that she'll need to start carrying a gun if his endeavors flourish, that's his job as well as a few of Mycroft's scattered lackeys. At least now he knows that if danger arises, she'd be able to hide herself to safety.

As he silently made his way past two bunkers and into the one that could provide better shooting angle at Molly's hiding place, he thought of how he's basically responsible for John's freedom and a month of free snacks for Lestrade.

It seems like he could still get more out of this victory.

When he reached his desired position, he took a moment to steady his nerves. "Molly, are you sure you want to be at my bidding for a whole month?" he said before rising up to shoot at the pathologist.

Who was not there.

It was already too late when he felt the gentle tap in his back.

"Not really."

It's called a "Murphy", something that happens when an opponent gets within point-blank range.

_Sneaks_ within point-blank range.

He was greeted by a big smile when he turned to look at her. "For the record, I tried shooting Lestrade twice."

There she was, standing proudly in front of him. "Lestrade is not the only member of the opposing team." He's not even going to deny that he's fishing for attention. All this time he thought he was getting the cold shoulder, only to be tapped-out in the end.

She lowered her barely used marker and he took in her noticeably cleaner disposition. She didn't move around much. He on the other hand is dusty from frequent changing of location.

"Yeah, I know. But Mary sort of reserved John and you moved too quickly and I don't want to waste my shots." Cocky. That was the first word that came out of his mind as he watched Molly bring her hand to her hips. His unassuming and mild-mannered pathologist had turned cocky within an hour of playing paintball.

Interesting.

However, he is still nursing a defeated ego. "You mean I'm not worth shooting at?"

_'And Lestrade is?' _He doesn't know if that was a compliment or an insult.

"Oh no!" For a moment his jumpy pathologist came back as she rigorously shook her hand and head. "You're worth every shot, Sherlock!"

The moment that the statement was hung in the air, it wafted _awkwardly _all over them.

However, it seems like adrenaline did a good number on Molly's nerves and she was the first one to recover. "I mean, why waste a shot when I could just sneak behind you."

His bruised self-esteem is back to being waved in the air again. "How did you do that?"

He genuinely wants to know where her stealth abilities comes from. The events surrounding _the fall _had effectively revealed that Molly Hooper can surprise Sherlock Holmes - a rarity considering who he is. But he thought it was merely because Molly is more adept to sentiment and human nature, both of which he had long viewed from the outside. But never had he anticipated that her sneaking abilities could translate to the physical world. Sure she had hidden him from the world, but that's a different kind of sneaky compared to moving silently from one point to another until you're standing behind someone else, with your nuzzle steadily pointed at their back.

"I actually play woodsball with my brother and his friends." Her smile curled in a different way. "I'm actually a forward sniper"

Devious woman.

He had seen pictures of her brother in paintball gear, sometimes Molly would be in it, but her attire was almost always devoid of tags that it seemed to him like she was just trying them out.

He didn't count the idea that she was never shot at.

He decides that he'll tag along in their next game. An image of Molly, hidden behind a tree, with her index finger curled around the trigger and her eyes alertly surveying her environment, is something he really needs to see.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see the others make their way towards them. Donovan and Mary obviously still basking over their victory. In contrast to Lestrade and John who, starting on Monday, will be bringing bear claw for a whole month and sit through an entire course of cooking respectively.

He wondered if any of them knows about Molly's abilities.

Turning back to the woman who is still grinning at him, he tried to make out his current situation. With Molly winning, he's bound to be at her mercy for a whole month. As enticing as that might sound, he'd most likely end up being told to clean his mess after using her equipments or be denied lab access when she doesn't want to. He is the one who does manipulations, not Molly. She's not the type who would plot her way into a date.

Or is she?

After all, he thought she's the type who won't survive a paintball game. He can't help but smirk as a thought crossed his mind. Maybe it's not up to him after all to try and initiate something. If he could just show that he is a _very willing _participant, maybe…

"So Ms. Hooper," Lowering his voice, he moved closer to her, totally disregarding any notion of personal space. "It would seem like I'll be at your beck and call for a whole month."

He could see her pupils dilate and feel her breathe hitch. Good. He reached for her wrist.

"Your wish, will be my command."

She's palpitating. What kind of woman doesn't want to be in control? Surely this reverse psychology will work well to his advantage.

"Your lab access is only up until my shift ends. You have to clean your own workstation and you have to stop _borrowing _my tools. No heart or head for this month. Wait for me to open _my door _instead of picking my locks and most important of all, don't disturb me during my day-off."

Or not.

"So, how does it feel like to be at the mercy of Molly Hooper?" John clapped his back as Lestrade stood on the other side with his arms across his chest. The three of them were left in the field as the victorious group walked away with plans of celebrating at a nearby café.

"Rematch?"

"Oh god yes!"

"Definitely."

He still has a prize to earn.


End file.
